


dirty hands

by peakgay



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M, Multiple Orgasms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 00:52:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5607529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peakgay/pseuds/peakgay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How do I look?” he asks, a slight shiver in his voice.</p><p>“Breathtaking.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	dirty hands

**Author's Note:**

> found this (completed, even) in the first word doc i started writing hamilton fic in. this was written...in like, october, probably, and it easily surpasses others in terms of content, but, it was for a friend, so like? there's no shame in that, is there?
> 
> History Note: If you've read Chernow's biography, you may be familiar with the referenced scene that plays out at the start of the fic. I'm not going to quote the whole scene, but, "Just before Hamilton returned to headquarters, Washington received a letter from Captain [Henry] Lee announcing Hamilton's death in the Schuylkill. There were tears of jubilation, as well as considerable laughter, when the sodden corpse himself sauntered through the door." (Chernow, 99)
> 
> Hamilton would have been 22, also. Which isn't that important to note, but worth noting, because I'm a bad person.

Alexander Hamilton comes through the door with his hair soaking wet and water trailing down his face. His eyes are red and tired, his skin almost grey with cold.

Washington, without thinking, rises from his desk.

The faces in the room shift from depressed, aching sorrow, to full-blown joy and laughter.

Hamilton is alive, logic be damned.

The aides approach their brother with hugs and laughter, boisterous and loud in their joy. Laurens and Lafayette both spend long moments hugging Hamilton, brushing wet strands of hair out of their friend's face. Washington stands near his desk, wavering between approaching and remaining stoic, questioning his own sanity at the song beneath his lungs, where his breath is so tightly captured.

If Hamilton’s eyes flicker his way while an aide-de-camp whose name vanishes from Washington’s mind squeezes him tightly, then Washington is lucky enough as it is.

“Alright, alright,” Washington says once the joy in the room has turned into quieter buzzing. He strides the few paces necessary and takes Alexander by the arm, peering at him. “Everyone out, except the doctor.”

There’s a pause and Washington half-expects someone to protest, but the family files out of his office almost silently, stoic in a way.

He stares at Hamilton, who clears his throat,

“Your Excellency,” he says, dry as ever despite his soggy appearance. “Glad to see you are alright.”

Washington chuckles and the doctor walks up to Hamilton, frowning and beginning to examine him.

“You need to take off your clothes,” the doctor says, and Hamilton nods, his attention shifting away from Washington as he starts to strip off the wet fabric.

He is alive, Washington thinks. That is what matters.

-

“Stay,” he says. “That is an order.”

Hamilton bites his lip. “You want me…here.”

“Overnight. You need to be kept watch on.”

Hamilton’s eyebrow raises, perhaps without conscious thought, as his amused expression turns into a frown. “I’m not dead, and I’m not going to die, sir.”

Washington shakes his head. “It’s a scare I’m not willing to repeat, to have you trot into the dark, go drinking – be found in a puddle in the morning.”

Hamilton hums, but the amusement remains. “Careful, sir. Paranoia like that will be the death of us all.”

Washington laughs this time. “You will be the death of _me_ , if anything,” he murmurs, turning to face Hamilton and reaching out to press a kiss to his forehead. “You’re warm now. Are you feverish?”

“No,” Hamilton says, looking up at him. He feels infinitely small like this, dressed only in a pair of breeches that don’t fit him, and a blanket around his shoulders. His chest is thin, but healthy. Washington glances away.

“Will you remain here, with me?”

“Of course, sir,” he whispers.

“We need to get you into something – more appropriate.”

Hamilton’s eyebrow raises again. “More appropriate for what, sir?”

“For sleeping.”

“Ah.”

Washington turns on his heel and leaves to find the garment he had been considering. It was a woman’s gown, a loose slip of white lace and silk. Handmade years ago, and waiting for someone to wear it. It would perhaps be slightly short, for Hamilton bore a long torso, but it would do.

He walks back into the office and hands Hamilton the garment.

Hamilton stares at it. His face becomes flushed after a moment, though Washington observes that it could simply be the change in temperature still influencing him.

“What is this?” he says, softly but with a slight laugh. “One of Martha’s gowns?”

“Perhaps,” Washington says. “Take off your clothes. Put it on.”

Hamilton looks up at him, eyes flashing, and then licks his lips.

“Yes, sir,” he says gently, and slowly starts to unlace and unbutton his breeches. He’s half-hard when he takes them off, and he drops the blanket onto the chair and stands in front of Washington, completely naked. Washington drinks up the image, thinks of the cock in front of him, Alexander's thin legs, his lithe chest and long neck. Then Hamilton pulls the slip over his head, and it barely covers anything. He huffs out a breath as he smooths it down, refusing to look back up at Washington.

“How do I look?” he asks, a slight shiver in his voice.

“Breathtaking.”

Hamilton lets out some sort of laugh, and seems to be a little more comfortable as he turns his eyes back to Washington.

“Come on. To bed, with you.”

“I’m not sick…sir.”

“Alexander,” Washington says, “do you ever listen to orders?”

Hamilton smiles again at that. “Not when they’re irresponsible, sir,” he says, but follows Washington nonetheless as he turns and heads into the bedroom. There is likely something drawing him into the bed beside sleep, and Washington understands. He aches in his own pants, just looking at Hamilton standing there, so close to him again. 

It’s frustrating.

Hamilton sits on the bed. He shifts up, towards the pillows, and relaxes against the headboard. “Are you coming to bed with me?” he says, still a little breathless. He had told Washington earlier, while the doctor was examining him, that he had swum to the shore and all-but ran his way back to camp. That he survived, Washington thinks, is a miracle if Washington's ever seen one.

“Yes, I think I am,” Washington says. He removes his jacket and shirt as Hamilton stares at him, but leaves his breeches on before settling into bed next to Hamilton. Next to him, Hamilton sinks further down against the pillow, sighing gently.

They're quiet together for a moment, and Washington considers just watching Hamilton sleep in the gown that grazes his thighs, but Hamilton's breathing is picking up, even though his eyes are shut and he looks, otherwise, peaceful.

Washington starts with his mouth on Hamilton’s throat. He kisses delicate skin there, presses his tongue to the point of Hamilton’s pulse. Hamilton lets out a throaty groan, the power of it vibrating against Washington’s tongue and lips. Hamilton’s hips move, short thrusts as he tries to gain friction against Washington’s movements.

“Shh, shh, no,” Washington says, pushing Hamilton back slightly and reaching between his legs. Through the gown, he takes hold of Hamilton’s cock and firmly strokes upward. Hamilton chokes and moans again, more loudly. Washington chuckles, mouthing Hamilton's jaw and pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. “For once, we are alone. Cry out if it serves you well.”

Hamilton shudders beneath him and gives a weak thrust of his hips. Under the silkiness of the gown, his cock slides through Washington’s fingers. Washington spreads his palm instead and presses hard against Hamilton’s cock; he jerks again and lets out a sharp, anguished sound from the back of his throat.

The part of Washington that never hesitates, that lets anger and passion override logic, wants to roll Hamilton onto his stomach, slide inside of him, and fuck him slow and hard into the pillows and sheets. Washington is certain that Hamilton would not complain, but doing so wouldn't serve Hamilton's recovery - he's not feverish or sick according to Washington's doctor, but he isn't the pinnacle of health either. This is already too much exertion as it is, by the way that Hamilton’s panting and whining seems ragged and exhausted.

“Do you want to come?” Washington whispers, running his thumb over the outline of the head of Hamilton’s cock before returning to faster strokes. “In such a lovely gown?”

Hamilton spasms, twitching under Washington's touch and burying his face into the general's throat muffling his drawn-out groan. Washington glances down in time to see the dark, wet spot form on the gown. Washington smiles and shifts down further on the bed as Hamilton catches his breath, back still arched, and flips the silk gown up to Hamilton’s stomach, licking the length of his twitching cock and cleaning any of the leftover drops of come from his skin. He pulls the fabric back over Hamilton as he whimpers and collapses back against the bed.

“Sir,” he whispers, turning his head to look at Washington. “That was cruel.”

“Welcome home, my boy,” he murmurs, bending over Hamilton’s body again and pressing further kisses to his neck. “God, you’re beautiful.”

“I wish you would fuck me,” Hamilton mutters, running his hands over Washington’s head. “I need it, sometimes.”

“You need rest,” Washington says, drawing a hand along Hamilton’s bare shoulder before he kisses the skin there. “You’re thin, and likely to get sick if you don’t take care of yourself and recuperate.”

“I didn’t die,” he mutters. “Just roll me over and fuck me until I truly can’t breathe.”

“Shh, your self-deprecation does you no service.”

“I already have you in your bed, why do I need to say anything more?"

“I am not so easily convinced…” Washington pauses, looking over Hamilton again. He really is beautiful; something most people who have met him note. His hair spreads dark over the pillow, and though his face is tired, he looks almost content with wide, eager eyes and the tantalizing curve of his lips.

Washington knows he shouldn’t have these thoughts, but they remain; they stir and they remain.

Through lidded eyes, Hamilton whispers, “Please. Don’t make me spout poetry just to convince you to have me. Indulge, General. Take.”

“People do not exist simply to be taken,” Washington says, and Hamilton takes the moment where he sits up to roll onto his stomach. He spreads his legs, hiking the skirt of the gown up.

Washington sighs at the obvious reveal.

“You're asking quite a bit of me, Alexander."

“I ask you to be what I need. Whether you agree or not about the case is irrelevant. It is true. It is the one thing of value to me in this wretched world.”

“Melodramatic,” Washington says, followed with a warm hum, but he leans over still, kissing the bottom of Hamilton’s spine. Hamilton shivers slightly, and Washington blows softly on his skin. “You’re warm, now?”

“Hot,” Hamilton says, shifting against the sheets. “Comfortable.”

“Good.” It’s against his better judgment that he undoes his breeches and tugs them off. Hamilton doesn’t look at him though, eyes closed where he rests his head on the pillow. Washington watches him take deep, shaky breaths. “Here.” 

Hamilton hums, opens his eyes, and then shifts to adjust, opening his mouth. Washington slips his fore and middle fingers into Hamilton’s mouth, tracing his tongue his the tips of his fingers. Hamilton sucks hard and willingly, groaning muffled as he closes his eyes again. Wordlessly, Washington thrusts his fingers in and out from between Hamilton’s lips, thoroughly wetting them and teasing Hamilton’s soft tongue. Hamilton moans again as Washington pulls the fingers away from his mouth and reaches between his legs.

Hamilton lets out a sharp cry as Washington thrusts his fingers inside. He doesn’t take much time, twisting them and spreading them to work Hamilton open. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Hamilton whispers, clinging to the bed sheets. “Please it’s…” He trails off, groans into the pillow, and rolls his hips backward further onto Washington’s hand.

Washington allows it to continue until Hamilton is truly begging, cursing Washington’s unwillingness. He removes his fingers, spitting into his palm and jacking his cock for a moment, slicking it with pre-come and saliva. He settles behind Hamilton now and positions himself, then thrusts his hips, grazing the opening before he finally breeches with a groan. Hamilton shudders and whines, twisting beneath Washington as he continues pushing further into Hamilton. The slowness continues, Washington remaining careful with each movement of his hips. He grunts and sighs as he fills Hamilton, who remains panting beneath him.

Washington reaches up and tangles his fingers in Hamilton’s hair, tugging slightly. “Alexander,” he whispers as Hamilton lets out a low, needy moan, clenching and unclenching his fingers in the sheets. “You begged me for this.”

“I know, I know,” Hamilton whispers, his voice hoarse. “I want you – I want you to touch me again.”

“Already?” Washington muses, giving another hard thrust of his hips. Hamilton gasps and groans, burying his head in the pillow. “You wanted me to fuck you – hard and slow. You never said anything about coming again.”

“Please, please.” Hamilton dissolves into mutters and further pleading, responding to the pace Washington sets. Washington focuses on the sounds he makes, some almost akin to cries, though to Washington’s knowledge, no tears follow. 

Washington takes pity on Hamilton only moments later, reaching under Hamilton and wrapping his fingers around Hamilton’s cock. Washington gives it a few quick, hard strokes, more insistent than earlier, matching time with his thrusts as much as he can. Hamilton’s control over his voice seems irrelevant at this point, as he keeps his face buried into a pillow while his body shudders and convulses before he comes for a second time. Hamilton spills over the gown and the sheets, hips bucking and twitching as he gasps, the shocks shuddering through him.

Washington decides, in a short second, to pull out and flip Hamilton back onto his back. Hamilton’s eyes are bright and surprised as Washington sits back, stroking himself as he leans slightly over Hamilton’s stomach. As Hamilton continues to catch his breath, reaching up to push his hair away from his forehead, Washington shudders, groans, and comes on his stomach and chest.

“Fuck,” Hamilton hisses, staring up at him. “You really thought I was dead, didn’t you?”

Washington looks at Hamilton for a moment before leaning down and pressing a hard kiss to his mouth. They move like that, kissing, bodies together, until Washington shifts and rolls Hamilton onto his side.

“You don’t want to get up?” Hamilton murmurs.

“Too late,” Washington says, pressing a kiss to Hamilton’s shoulder and gliding his hands over the silk and softness of the night gown. “Yes, you have to sleep in that dreadful thing. It’s too beautiful for me to allow you to take it off.”

“I like it,” Hamilton whispers.

“Yes, I know.”


End file.
